


A Howling in the Night

by mrua7



Series: Strange, scary stories and the Man from U.N.C.L.E. [6]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:57:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya face an unexpected danger while crossing a frozen wilderness in the Soviet Union.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Howling in the Night

**The prompt:**

It was getting dark and the temperature was dropping steadily; a lone duo traveling out in the open knew they needed to get to some shelter. Trudging along the snow dusted landscape; they headed  towards a distant tree line. There they could at least find cover to protect themselves from the elements.

Illya Kuryakin paused to catch his breath, raising his nose and sniffing the air.

“We had better hurry, it is going to snow again.”

His American partner, Napoleon Solo, had long given up trying to understand how his Russian friend knew these things and just accepted such statements at face value.

Listening to a howling in the distance, Illya spoke again. “They will be on the hunt before the storm prevents them from doing so. Ско́лько во́лка ни корми́, он всё в лес смо́трит_a wolf cannot change its nature,” he mumbled a Russian proverb.

Illya could see an unusually large grey watching them on a far away ridge, calling to its pack, and they answered, echoing each others wolf cry.

“Waxing a bit poetic?” Napoleon huffed as they put a leg under it, moving a little faster towards their goal.

“There is truth in the old sayings. You realize I spent my childhood dealing with wolves,” Illya stopped for a second to catch his breath again, and cast a glance back at the grey, still watching them.  “ Food is becoming scarce. They will most likely come for us, it is their nature as it is a matter of survival. A leopard cannot change its spots if you wish to look at it a different way?”

Those words made the American uneasy, though he kept that feeling to himself.

Once arriving to their chosen site, Solo and Kuryakin set about preparing the materials they needed. It would be cold enough when the sun went down, but snow arriving would make being caught out in the open even more deadly.

 

 

Napoleon pulled out a serrated wire coiled up in his backpack, and choosing a slightly pliable pine branch from the ground he cleaned it and stretched the wire from end to end, making a very serviceable saw for them to use.

When it was ready, the two began cutting the low branches heavy with pine needles.  These would cover the lean to they planned to build as well as to make a nice bedding on which they could sleep; though they had sleeping bags, it would help insulate against the cold as the ground was rock hard.

The next thing prepared were the larger branches for the supports, thin more pliable ones were used to lash it all together and the shelter was set up pointing into the prevailing wind.

Though it might make sense to some to construct the shelter deep among the trees, once the snow began to build up on the branches, there was a chance the buildup and the weight of it would make it fall and extinguish the campfire.  Once burning, they’d need to keep it ablaze as long they could.

The roof and sides of the lean to were covered with branches; Illya decided the front should be covered as well and proceeded to make a separate wall of branches that could be easily moved into place. leaving but a small opening directly behind where the fire would be.  Close enough to give them some warmth, but not close enough to set anything ablaze.

“It is going to be a heavy snow,” Kuryakin cautioned as he set about his work, saying little else. Napoleon finished bringing the bedding and their equipment inside, opening and spreading out their sleeping bags.

Crawling back outside he set about building their fire. The ground was too hard to dig any sort of pit, and he decided to pile up heavier logs they’d gathered, stacking them as platforms in several layers, this would help ensure the fire would last through the night. He then piled a cluster of wood to burn on the top layer. Pulling out his cigarette lighter, he lit a bit of tinder he’d readied, happy there was no need to use flint and steel to make a spark.

The fire was burning nicely within minutes, just as the first snowflakes began to fall.

The last thing Solo did was gather as many large rocks as he could find, piling them to form a semicircular wall on the opposite side of the fire to help protect it. Though once it began to snow heavily that probably wouldn’t help.

The partners flopped back into their shelter, holding off closing the front just yet.

There was a hollow sort of quiet and the two men simply listened until the silence was again broken by the sounds of the wolves howling, though they seemed closer this time.

“I suspect they are still on the hunt,” Illya said, though there was a tiredness to his voice. He was putting on a brave face. "Speaking of food…” he reached into his pack with his left hand, pulling out a plastic bag of beef jerky, and offered it to his partner. The dried meat was eaten quickly and washed down with a swig of water from a canteen.

“I guess no sleep for the weary chum...I’ll take the first watch,” Napoleon said, sensing his partner’s pain.

“I will give you no argument, but there is one last task for us to complete my friend.”

Solo looked at him in confusion. “Our shelter’s built and a nice one if may say so myself, and we have a roaring fire with plenty of firewood to last us a few days if need be.”

He pointed to a large pile of wood within reach of the lean to that they’d covered with pine branches to help keep it all dry.

“We have enough rations for a week if we're careful, and plenty of water, so what else do we have to do but wait out this storm?”

“We need to travel tomorrow do we not?” Illya refrained from saying what was really on his mind, wondering if they would both survive the night.

“True.”

“It will make it easier if we have snowshoes, correct?”

Napoleon smiled, lighting the small kerosene lantern beside him.  “Smart Russian.”

Illya had apparently gathered several long flexible branches, and proceeded to smooth them out, though with some difficulty, using his bowie knife. He struggled while binding the outer ends of one branch together at what would be the heel section, tied smaller straight branches across the width and taking what rope he had in his pack, he cut sections across the shoe for weight distribution, and lastly he tied more rope that would act as straps on the toe and ankles.

Napoleon watched and started one on his own, watching as his partner trying to make another. “Here, let me do it.”

Within minutes both pairs of snowshoes were ready for use.

“Now,” Kuryakin smiled,” I will go to sleep. Thank you for taking first watch. Napoleon’s motive behind his offer wasn’t lost on the Russian.

Illya’s right shoulder was hurting him terribly as it had been dislocated when he’d fallen down a slight embankment after losing his footing. It would be a light sleep though, as the concern over the wolves was in the back of his mind.

Napoleon had been able to pop his partner’s shoulder back in place, though there was still a lot of discomfort. Kuryakin should have been keeping it still, but that was simply impossible and now it was fairly limited at the moment in its range of motion. The injury, the time they’d spent traveling and building the shelter had taken its toll on the Russian and he gratefully welcomed sleep.

The sounds of the wolf-song echoing in the darkness lulled Kuryakin to slumber very quickly, in spite of his concerns, yet they triggered childhood memories as he began to dream.

 

_“Illyusha!” Nicholaí Kuryakin yelled to his son.”Get behind me now!”_

_The elder Kuryakin held his rifle high, aiming at the approaching pack of wolves.  Their movement silhouetted in the light of the full moon that was shining bright in the star-filled sky._

_Illya did as he was told, moving quickly behind his father. He was too small to have a rifle of his own, and though he tried to act bravely, he found himself clinging to his fathers leg._

_“Papa, there are too many.”_

_“Shusssh boy, I need to only hit the leader.”_

_His father momentarily lowered the rifle, ejecting the bullet in the chamber and reaching into his pocket, Kolya drew out something silver and shiny. Illya realized it was a bullet, but a different one._

_The rifle loaded once again, Nicholaí took aim at a great red wolf at the front of the pack. He held his breath and fired._

_There was a yelp, and moments later what sounded like the wail of a human voice. Their leader downed; the pack scattered in every direction, disappearing into the night._

_Kolya took his son’s hand, leading him to where he thought the downed creature laid.  He found nothing but blood stains, and as he suspected...human footprints._

_“Come Illyusha, we must head to the cabin now. We will build a fire and stand watch through the night. I have wounded the one they follow...hopefully not bad enough for them to regroup and come back after us.”_

_“Papa what does regroup mean?” Illya asked with wide innocent blue eyes._

_Nicholaí reached down, running his hand through his little boy’s blond hair. Sometimes he forgot Illya was so young...he was smart for his age and at times seemed much older and mature beyond his years._

_“In this case moy syn (my son)  it means they could come back together as a pack and return for us again.”_

_“We will be ready for them, da Papa?”_

_“Da, now go to sleep boy.”_

_The night was long though comfortable in the small hunting shack in which the father and son had taken refuge before in, just before the sun had gone down._

  
__

_There was a small cast iron stove to one side with a pipe leading up and out through the roof to carry away the smoke, but there little else inside. The cabin was only meant as a temporary spot in which a hunter might rest and warm himself._

  
__

_On one side of the interior there was a bench built into the wall,  meant to be used as a seat. For now it was that for Kolya and a bed for Illya as the boy’s head rested on his father's lap as was made to lay down to sleep._

_The rifle never left Nicholaí’s right hand and laid the other on his son, thinking the child was asleep, but inquisitive blue eyes opened again._

_Illya was a thinker and his mind was always puzzling out things. “Papa, why did you load put a silver bullet in your rifle?”_

_He didn’t think the boy had seen that, and sighed…bad enough they might be stalked by wolves, but not the other kind...the ones that could walk on two feet._

_“Because one of them is more dangerous than the others, their leader is a bodark...one who has been transformed._

_Illya knew the meaning of that word...transformed._

_“In what way Papa?”_

_“The bodark is a human who makes himself to a wolf, but unlike other creatures who have been transformed against their will in other parts of the world, this bodark has changed himself by choice._

_Illya laughed, being very much a realist even at a young age, he couldn’t believe such a thing.”No one can to that! This is a story to frighten children like the Baba Yaga.” (though the boy would be wont to admit that story did scare him)_

_“Do not make light Illya, this is very serious. A man who wishes to be wolf must perform a ritual. He would need to stab a copper knife into a tree and while holding the knife in the tree a chant must be repeated.”_

_“On the empty pasture gleams the moon, on an ashstock lying In a green wood, in a gloomy vale.Toward the stock wandereth a shaggy wolf. Horned cattle seeking for his sharp white fangs; but the wolf enters not the forest, but the wolf dives not into the shadowy vale.”_

_Nicholaí droned the words, almost like the priest Father Demya at St. Andrews would utter the prayers and as Illya listened he found his eyelids becoming very heavy._

_“Moon, moon, gold-horned moon, Cheat the flight of bullets, blunt the hunters’ knives, Break the shepherds’ cudgels, cast wild fear upon all cattle, on men, on all creeping things.”_

_“That they may not catch the grey wolf, that they may not rend his warm skin. My word is binding, more binding than sleep, more binding than the promise of a hero.” *_

_Kolya looked down to see his son had at last fallen asleep; thinking it odd he would doze off to the bodark’s chant, but then Illya was a very odd little boy at times._

_He never got around to answering the question the child had asked. Silver bullets were the only way to kill a bodark, before it killed you. Once bitten by such a creature, you yourself would be transformed, and cursed to change into a wolf by the light of the full moon._

_Suddenly, the hunter’s shack shook, so much so that the chimney dislodged, quickly filling the small room with smoke from the stove._

_There was a roar, as the door collapsed inwards and though Illya was shoved behind his father, he could see the glowing red eyes of the beast as it appeared in the smoke, and he screamed in terror._

_The rifle fired with Kolya’s last silver bullet, sending the bodark’s body skidding to the floor while father and son watched as its features slowly transformed from a wolf into that of a young man…_

_It was Konstantin Ulyanin, the older brother of Illya’s classmate Yuri._

_“Come Illyusha,” Nicholaí Kuryakin picked up his son in his arms. “We must burn this place now and go home. You will speak to no one of this, swear to me.”_

_“But Papa, Kostia…”_

_“Nyet, you will not say that name again, and that is final.”_

 

The snow was falling harder now, but Napoleon had opted not to close the front of the shelter just yet. Wrapping his sleeping bag around him; he threw more wood onto the fire as he kept a watchful eye. The silence was broken by the sounds of hissing as  snowflakes hit the flames.

It wouldn’t be much longer before it would be impossible to maintain the fire. Once it was extinguished, he’d lift the covering into place to block as much of the cold as possible. The howling had ceased, and secretly the American hoped the wolf pack had gone off in another direction.

Solo squinted, looking out into the night but was near whiteout conditions at this point.  At least the wind wasn’t blowing the snow in on them... yet.

That was when he heard it, a distinctive growling.

Napoleon cursed under his breath.

“Illya...wake up, we’ve got company.”

Kuryakin sat up straight, his Special in his hand, though he tried not to moan. Laying down had let his shoulder stiffen, making it more painful to move.

“What?” He asked, though the images from his dream still danced in his head.

“I think the wolves have found us.”

“Throw more wood on the fire, and turn up the lantern...we need as much light as possible.” Illya said hurriedly, trying to shake off the effects of his dream.

They both agreed to keep the side of the shelter facing the fire open, giving them a better field of vision. However, if the wolves attacked from the rear, the branches covering the lean to would offer little protection.

They watched, staring out into the snow past the crackling flames of the fire, and there they saw it at least half a dozen pair of eyes eerily glowing in the firelight...mostly yellow, some green. Seemingly immovable, yet moments later they did move as if the creatures were stepping aside.  In the very center there appeared a pair of devilish red eyes, larger than the rest.

“No, it is not possible,” Illya blurted out.. How could he have dreamt what he did and now see the red eyes again...the same from when he was a child, and the ones that still haunted his dreams.  Could the howling have triggered those memories?

‘What’s not possible chum,” Napoleon asked, though he dared not look away from the beasts as they continued to move closer little by little.

“I have seen eyes such as this before and they are not natural.”

“Okay I’ll bite, no pun intended,” Napoleon tried lightening up the tension.

His partner told him of the bodark, and for the first time since it happened Illya spoke of the incident from his childhood.

“You’re kidding right. A werewolf?”

“I am serious. There have been many instances of such creatures documented all across Europe.”

“Well I’m sorry but I’m only familiar with the Lon Chaney version in the movies.”

“Napoleon, I am not making this up.”

Illya reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a keychain with a small metal cylinder attached to it.  He opened one end of it and out slipped something that made his partner’s eyes widen with surprise….it was a silver bullet.

“You must load this into your gun and use it on the one with the red eyes before it attacks us.”

“Aw come on Illya you've got to be kidding me?”

“Please will you just indulge me? I cannot hold my gun steady enough, and since there is only one bullet, I cannot risk missing, therefore you must be the one to shoot it.”

Napoleon looked at the bullet once Illya handed it to him, though he wondered if the Russian was losing his mind, he thought it better just to humor him.  He unloaded his Special, putting the bullet the magazine, and shoved it back in the grip with a click.

The wind picked up, changing direction and sending snow into the lean to. The fire quickly died down and soon it would be extinguished; all they would have left would be the oil lantern.

“Here it comes!” Illya shouted. “Shoot Napoleon...kill it!” Kuryakin’s voice sounded strained and filled with emotion he fought to restrain.

The immense wolfen face that went with those red eyes was finally revealed as the beast stepped into the firelight.

 

Solo clasped his gun with two hands, keeping himself steady as he took aim. He put pressure on the trigger, tightening it ever so slowly.

The shot rang out;  there was a yelp that morphed into a human voice sounding like the garbled scream of a woman.

Suddenly it was quiet, except for the sound of the wind and a short while later that died down.

There were no more eyes staring at them from the darkness.

Illya reached out, throwing more wood on the fire until it blazed high, warming the interior of the lean to. Once it was deemed safe, Solo lifted the extra panel and covered the opening half way, and they spent the rest of the night taking turns at keeping watch.

The morning arrived, with a clear cloudless sky and a shining sun. The storm was over.

The U.N.C.L.E. agents opened their shelter, and putting on their snowshoes, they walked out to view carnage.

There was nothing, no corpse at all, though Napoleon was sure he’d hit the creature. He was prepared to counter his partners superstitious story, but stopped instantly when he saw the tracks in the snow.

There were large paw prints everywhere, but among them were human footprints, bare and small enough to look as though they belonged to that of a woman.

“I told you so,” Illya said as he pulled out his compass.

“I stand corrected tovarisch. Wow.”

“Napoleon, as my father once said to me, I say to you now...speak to no one of this.”

“Hey no problem there.”

They donned their backpacks, cleared the camp and making sure the fire was extinguished; finally heading off north by northwest to their rendezvous with and U.N.C.L.E. team awaiting their arrival across the Finnish border.

Soon they’d be winging their way to England, and from there back to New York with the plans they’d stolen from the T.H.R.U.S.H. courier, having caught up with him in the town of Vyborg, 38 kilometers south of the Finnish-Russian border.

It was risky for Illya to be in the Soviet Union, but the information they’d obtained he deemed well worth the risk.

As they walked across the snow, the American mused about what had happened to them.

“Yep,”Solo mumbled to himself,” No one would ever believe this; he nervously looked over his shoulder, hearing a wolf’s howl again, but this time it was far off in the distance.”

“We should now be relatively safe my friend ,”Illya reassuringly called to him. “The other wolves have been duly warned by your gunfire and should keep their distance...as to the bodark, I do not know. You may have killed it, or not. The moon will be waning tonight….” his voice trailed off.

“I hope so,” Napoleon whispered. The sooner they got to the extraction point, the happier he’d be. It would be ‘mums the word’ on this one for sure…

 

* Russian legend


End file.
